


Nobody's Perfect

by anxious_fangirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Anxiety, Arguing, Big Brother Dean, Chick-Flick Moments, Crying, Demons, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Emotionally Hurt Sam, Emotionally Repressed Winchesters, Emotions, F/M, Gen, Ghosts, Hugs, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Loving Dean, Loving Sam, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Nephilim, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pain, Panic Attacks, Poltergeists, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Saving People Hunting Things, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-05-21 05:44:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6040471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anxious_fangirl/pseuds/anxious_fangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>OFC has had her rollercoaster of a life, and her emotions haven't really helped along the ride. Eventually, keeping her emotions all bottled-up, she breaks down, but the brothers have and will always be there for her.</p><p>[I AM ATTEMPTING TO GET BACK INTO WRITING AND REWRITING]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nobody's Perfect

Life isn't supposed to be an apple pie, goody-goody kind of a life. No. Instead, the apple pie isn't baked correctly and doesn't taste okay and there's rarely any goody-goody. But why am I still breathing and why am I still sitting here in front of my two brothers? It's because they're the only two things in this world that I have, and at the end of the day and that is all that matters to me.

Now I say brothers although we are of no relation. Long story short, I've been roaming the country for a little of my 25 years of life after a few bad hunts here and there and after I moved away from my parents at the crisp age of 18. A school counselor and one-on-one therapy sessions with myself here and there, then Sam and Dean took me in basically, because I had no one else to turn to. I was raised into the hunt like they were, but my parents never went full-on Army Generals when they taught me everything they knew. Overtime, the three of us have become a family, and I even decided to change my last name to their's...partially for convenience.

We've bonded and we've had to deal with the ups and downs...including my own personal problems. I didn't go to counselors because of the monsters in MY own head. It's much more scarier and trembling to fight your own mind when no one else can hear the negative words or see how much pain you're really in as you struggle to pretend everything is okay. Luckily and also unfortunately, Sam and Dean can see my mask of bullshit at least 70% of the time and yeah we'll talk and drink through the pain, but that only helps to an extent.

I found out at a young age that I had depression and anxiety. When my mom was pregnant with me, she took anti-depressants and anxiety pills, but we found out that it changed my DNA somehow--whether it was magic or not--and I suddenly started to get addicted to the medications, hence, the product of me. It was always difficult living with basically two different personalities, but it was always hard to make friends at my school. Yes, singular form of school. My parents never wanted to move, considering we had other hunter families in our close vicinity.

Anyways, anxiety makes you panicked and constantly worried about virtually everything, but then depression makes you feel empty and, well, depressed so you can't do anything. Plus, with a few hints of procrastination and a few gallons worth of sarcasm in my blood, I was born--and personally, I wish I never was. As horrid and depressing as it truly sounds, I don't exactly mean it, it's just a way of saying that I want and I deserve more than this. I mean, pfft, yeah, being alive is amazing, but I'm sick of being me, living with my own mental health battles as I battle monsters around me.

Sam and Dean have always been there for me though. They've helped me with my panic attacks and my depressed moods that can appear at any second. Luckily I always have my two brothers to rely on, even though the whole new situations scared them at first when we first started to bond over the years--especially my panic attacks. Geez, I remember the first time...We were on a hunt in Michigan together and I got lost in a part of the building for a few long minutes, and ghosts were tricking me and it just got pretty overwhelming at the time, and I nearly drowned at one point, but--

"You daydreaming again?" Sam asked me with a small smile and an eyebrow raised, as he looked at me from across the table we occupied in the kitchen of our motel room in Oregon.

I slowly started to smile and I felt mildly embarrassed, because I had been staring at a spot to the left of his head, almost looking out the window. I felt the heat rise in my cheeks and he looked a little taken back.

"I'm sorry. Continue dreaming (Y/N)," he said as he went back to typing on his laptop and staring at the bright screen in front of him.

I sighed, "No. It's okay," I rubbed a hand down my face and removed my resting legs from the table and I got up from the table to scour in the fridge for a beer, but he quickly scooted back and swung an arm out to stop me from opening the door.

I shot him an angry look, along with a startled, "Hey!", with my eyebrows in a frown. He just shrugged.

"You shouldn't be drinking. You had a pretty bad panic attack last night and I can tell it hasn't worn off entirely."

"Sam, you should have learned from your brother already that alcohol? Takes away the edge," I groaned at him," Just move your arm or I'll break it," I stared at him until he gave in, shrugging and sighing as he pulled his chair back to the table to continue research.

I opened the fridge, greeted by the warm yellow light, which pointed out the beer on the bottom shelf. I grabbed one and was about to ask Sam if he wanted one when Dean came slamming through the door, drenched from the afternoon pouring rain.

Sam and I looked up as Dean shaked off his coat and threw it on a lonely chair by the door. He shuffled across the floor and through the kitchen towards me, and that's when he finally looked up and spoke with an eyebrow raised, and I immediately knew what he was going to say, so I already had my bitch-face ready.

"(Y/N). No beer after panic attacks, remember?"

I huffed and squinted my eyes at him,"You want one Dean?"

"Hell yeah," he said as I gave him the one I had in my hand and he reached across the table to grab it.

I had to open up the fridge again, but luckily Sam let me be to grab a new one. I popped the top off with no problem as I turned back around and sat down at the table with my legs back in their raised position on the table next to Sam, but Dean used the counter to wedge his off. I huffed and laughed a little, but then I stopped because it really wasn't that funny. God, why do I smirk and laugh at things that aren't funny? Why do I pressure myself to be okay and smile till the end of the day, only to do it again until the next? I sighed and felt the sadness starting to creep back in. I drew in a shaky breath and quickly started to drink my beer, hoping it could distract me for a little bit.

I nudged Sam a little and motioned with my hand at his laptop, "So whatcha got big brother?"

He looked partially annoyed at first, but that was until he saw the look in my eyes and his expression softened. Again, they can see through the bullshit mask most of the time and I just couldn't bear to deal with my depression right now--so, distraction it is.

Luckily, he cleared his throat and then Dean took his own seat at the table and we silently and patiently waited for Sam to fill us in on his findings. Considering he's been on the Internet all day, we have to be set on cases for a while--everything I can get to distract me, the better.

"Well," he started sliding down in the chair a little more to get conformable, "uh, there's a job in Minnesota, Montana, and possibly Texas. Take your pick."

"Or we can split-up," I shrugged, and smiled a little, "I haven't been to Minnesota in a while; I think I have a friend that lives there, too," I smirked as I looked down at the beer in my hands.

Before I could really feel proud of myself for speaking up and being part of the conversation, Sam had to pull the spotlight away and throw it outside in the pouring rain.

"Actually, I don't think you should go to Minnesota, (Y/N). By the way things are looking...," he shook his head as he still faced the bright screen...why won't he look at me?

"What? 'By the way things are looking' how?"

"Dean," he closed his eyes, "Would you please support me on this one?"

"Unh-uh. Not until you tell her--us--why not."

"Because it looks like a ghost--or rather...a poltergeist," he said and finally looked at me,"The way things are being described and what happened to the family...," he trailed off.

"And?" I questioned, not understanding their unsupported reasoning.

"That, uh, poltergeist in Michigan right?" Dean asked Sam--who shook is his head yes--then turned back on me, "Our first gig together, remember?"

"Trust me, I remember," I took a long swig from my beer,"But I'm over it--," they gave me a look, "mostly. Seriously, if anything, y'all would want me to go to Minnesota."

"Why?" Sam shook his head and scrunched his eyebrows.

"You've been told to face your fear of clowns. Maybe I just need to do this one, simple, little job to get over what happened in Michigan."

"Un-uh. You are not going. End of story," Dean stood up and threw his empty beer in the sink and raised a finger at me, "'If anything', I will haul your ass down to Texas," he bent down in my face, "I will put you on lock-down if need be too. You cannot possibly think that you could handle something like that, c'mon. "

"..Fine..," I whispered, not looking him in the eye, as I felt my heart race.

I nodded a little and quickly took a drink from my beer. I could feel Sam's stare and I just wanted to scream at him to stop looking at me and I wanted to scream at Dean for being such a prick as he walked over to the fridge to grab another beer and I just wanted to flip the table and punch both of them in the face and just burn everything to the ground and crash Baby or maybe steer her off of a cliff while I'm inside and I wish I could go back to my parents and feel their hugs and hear their voices as they told me 'I love you' and I just want to lay in the comfort of home and feel love and hope and be able to dream and not worry and I wish that I really did have friends and--Oh god, is that a tear running down my face?

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I launched myself from the table, causing my chair to fall to the floor with a loud 'smack' behind me, only sending me closer to the edge as I visibly jumped at the noise. My vision was dancing and my pulse was racing and my face was twitching, but I knew that I needed to make it to the bathroom so I could calm down. With wobbling legs and arms, I used the wall for support as I finally entered the bathroom and slammed the door and locked it for extra measure.

I was hyperventilating at this point--and oh God why did I have to get myself worked-up to the point of a panic attack...

I reached for the sink for support but my knees gave out and suddenly my head smacks the edge of the sink and then the floor, and bounces back up. I audibly groan, not hearing the pounding on the door because the own pounding in my head--along with my pulse--is drowning it out.

I slowly pushed myself up and back into the wall furthest from the door as it continued to shake. No doubt Dean was doing all of the damage and Sam was trying to get him to calm down.

Speaking of damage, is that blood on the tiles?

With fogging vision, I reached a still-shaking hand up and made contact with a cut about the size of my pinky, maybe a bit longer, just below my hairline on the left side of my forehead.

"Fuck," I mumbled and closed my eyes, dropping my hand back down onto my outstretched legs.

The door continued to shake, but then abruptly stopped. I peeked-open an eye, glad to see the door still standing, and lightly sighed in relief.


End file.
